Some text is borrowed from He Knew He Was Right by Anthony Trollope (published in 1869).
Lily couldn't help but let her eyes drift toward Severus, searching for some lingering flicker of that boy she had loved. There was a viciousness to him now; or, rather, it had always been there, bubbling beneath the surface, but tempered by something. Lily's presence maybe. Isn't that a stupid, girlish thing to believe, she snarled within her own mind. 'The love of a good woman changing a man.' Ha! That's for the movies.
Maybe he hadn't changed. Maybe she had.
The world had once seemed so complicated and confusing, only making sense when she was with Sev. Without him, she had felt like a square peg in a round hole. But now that he was gone she felt her corners sanded off to allow her to slide neatly into place, and she wasn't sure if she liked it.
Lily coated her pale lashes in mascara and straightened her hair. She adjusted her skirt, making sure the pleats were neat and even. "A Potions mastery?" Marlene parroted back when Lily told her what her plans were after graduation. Marlene's nose wrinkled at the thought. "Do you really want to come home smelling like fumes and animal guts? I can't imagine a worse turnoff for any man. You're really good at Charms, you should do something with that."
And so Lily had gone to Slughorn, thanked him for the recommendation, but informed him that she would be pursuing a field in enchantment. "What a shame," Professor Slughorn had sighed. "I had rather hoped you would take over for me when I retired."
She would sometimes spot Severus tramping out of the Forbidden Forest, his hair unwashed and covered in leaves, his cloak filled with mushrooms, boots muddy and untied. She thought, he needs to grow up. We're not little kids anymore. Doesn't he know the things people say about him? Lily opened her compact, checked her lipstick, and tried not to think back at how it used to be. Barefoot, jeans rolled up without a care for her unshaven legs, splashing in the muddy waters outside Cokeworth.
Snape. He was Snape now. Only Mulciber and Avery ever called him Severus. Severus or Mudblood, and it made her sick to her stomach to see him roll his eyes good-naturedly at their words.
"He's an idiot if he thinks he'll somehow be different. No matter how much he sucks up to them, he'll always be just another half-blood," Lily growled into her butterbeer, wishing her birthday would hurry up so she could order something a little stronger. Her birthday was January 30. Sev's was January 9.
"Mmm," Remus hummed, knowing that Lily wasn't looking for a response, only a warm body to rant at.
Remus was the only person she could talk to about Sev. Snape. He was oddly tolerant of the subject, compared to everyone else in her life. It was a shame Remus didn't have a girlfriend. He was kind of cute, even with all the scars. Maybe because of the scars. Sev had scars too. Girls would probably flock to him if Remus didn't dress so shabbily. Lily liked shabby. It made him seem… eccentric. Like he had too much on his mind to bother with how he looked. Unlike Potter, whose carefully messy hair reeked of artifice.
"Hey," Lily said, catching his attention.
They were tucked into a booth, sitting side by side at the Three Broomsticks, waiting for their friends. Remus looked up, a quizzical expression marring his yellow-tinted gaze. Lily leaned forward and closed her eyes. Her lips had only just brushed against him when Remus jerked back, looking frantically all around him.
"Don't do that," he scolded. "We can't do that."
Lily narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean can't?" Why was everyone always telling her what she could and could not do?
"You're Jamie's girl."
Lily let out a laugh, but it sounded more like an explosion of hot air, sharp and disdainful. "I am not Potter's girl."
"He's been in love with you since fourth year. I can't date you. It would break his heart."
"And what about my heart?" Lily demanded. "Doesn't anyone care about how I feel?"
Remus looked away and kept his hands to himself.
"Come on, give James a chance," Marlene cajoled a few days later. "It's our last year. What have you got to lose?" And then, a little lower, she said, "Do you know what people are saying about you?"
"She's a bit cold-hearted, isn't she?" The whispers followed her through the halls. "The way she strings along James Potter like that. Would it kill her to go on one date with him?"
"Maybe she's frigid."
"Or she's one of those Muggleborns that hates anything Muggle. She was friends with Snape after all. Ha, ever wonder if they've fucked? Maybe she likes dirty, Death Eater cock."
"Nah, Snape would have chopped her up into bits if he ever got her naked, just like poor Hayes…"
Fine. She would go on one date with Potter, if only to shut everyone up. Maybe she was a coward. Maybe she didn't belong in Gryffindor after all, but the thought of everyone gossiping about her sent her mind spiraling. She didn't know how Sev dealt with it all these years, how he could keep showing up to class day after day, pretending not to hear the things they said about him.
One date turned into two, and three and four, and suddenly, before Lily quite knew how it happened, she was engaged. It was easy, floating along through life. Why did she ever try to resist? James was happy. Her parents were happy. They had never liked Sev.
Henry and Rose Evans were dazzled by James's wealth, handsome looks, and good-natured personality. They were stolid, middle-class people with delusions of upward mobility, and James was like a gift from heaven that had landed squarely in their laps. Lily was starting to feel a little like a blue-ribbon pig at a country fair. She pulled out her compact and checked her lipstick, and beside her on the couch, Petunia did the same. Her sister had an angry, mulish expression on her face that she tried to hide beneath a veneer of boredom.
"It will have to be a small wedding," Lily's father said delicately. "My finances aren't what they used to be since the mill closed."
If her family was hurting for money, Lily could only imagine how it must be for the Snapes. Was Sev alright? Was he eating enough? She hadn't seen him since graduation.
"Don't worry, my family will pay for everything," James assured him. "It's my idea that girls shouldn't have fortunes. At any rate, men should never look for money in a girl. A man is more likely to be comfortable and affectionate when the money belongs to himself." He turned to smile at Lily, as if she was supposed to find this comment romantic, or maybe he thought it would reassure her. His way of saying he didn't care if she was rich or poor. Instead, it made her skin crawl.
Too late to turn back now, she thought. You've made your bed and now you must lie in it. Just think of the embarrassment if you broke off the engagement. People would talk.
Henry Evans grew to like his son-in-law more and more. By Lily's own admission, James had done very well for himself at school, earning the top spot in Transubstantiation or whatever the subject was called. And he was popular, not a bookworm, or a dry philosopher, or a prig. He could talk on all subjects, was very generous, a man sure to be honored and respected; and then such a handsome, manly fellow with messy black hair, a nose divinely chiseled, and six feet high. He liked him better than Tuney's beau, and that Snape boy wasn't even worth mentioning. Only, as Rose was the first to find out, he liked to have his own way.
"But his way is such a good way," said Henry.
"But Lily likes her way too," Rose answered.
Henry argued the matter no further, but thought that such a husband as James Potter was entitled to have his own way. Yes, he could concede that as a young girl Lily had been headstrong, but she had blossomed these past few years into a real lady.
The wedding took place in July. It was called the "Wedding of the Century" by The Daily Prophet. Only Regulus Black's upcoming wedding next year to his cousin Narcissa was more highly anticipated. Lily's dress alone had cost more than what her father had paid for their house. Petunia had been her maid of honor, but she had ruined every picture she was in with her sour, unpleasant scowl. When Lily flipped through the album, she saw the image of her sister make a rude gesture with her finger, before running off to hide in another photograph.
They went on a long honeymoon, passing a winter and a spring in Paris. To Lily's great embarrassment, Euphemia had gifted her some lingerie right before they had boarded their ship. "There are a few potions, you know," she had whispered to her, glancing around at the waiting crowd. "To ensure you conceive a son. They're not… strictly legal, but Fleamont is a Potions Master. He can get it for you. James… James is the last of us. Our line cannot die with him." And she had stared at Lily as if her womb could save the world. She had felt sub-human as she linked arms with James.
Their first night at the hotel had been… awkward, to say the least. Lily had worn the lingerie Euphemia had gifted her – a sheer blue teddy that left nothing to the imagination – and couldn't help but think of the old woman as she sat in the middle of the bed, waiting for James to come out of the bathroom. Maybe this teddy is a family heirloom. Maybe Euphemia wore it when she conceived James, Lily thought and burst into laughter at the image of Euphemia as she was now, sixty-five years old, breasts resting against her stomach, as Fleamont plowed into her, his dentures in a glass beside the bed.
James came out of the bathroom wearing a robe, his eyebrow raising upward. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing," Lily said as she leaned back, putting everything on display. "Want to fool around?"
"Oh, I'm planning to do more than just that," James assured her and disrobed.
He was tall and well-built, his skin tanned and there was a dusting of black hair everywhere. Not exactly her type. She liked boys that were long and willowy, perhaps a little feminine, but she would make do. She could learn to like all that hair.
James climbed on top of the bed, settling between her legs. They kissed. It was soft and sweet and… not boring, Lily would never say boring, but… she wondered if maybe James was tired. It had been a long day after all. She wouldn't blame him if he was tired.
He wrapped his fingers in her hair, only to pull back quickly, as if he didn't like the texture. She could feel him frown against her lips. He pulled back just enough to run his eyes over her face, taking in her red hair, her button nose, her green eyes. "Nox," he whispered, plunging the room into darkness.
James and Lily strolled through the Académie des Arts Magiques, taking in this year's submissions. The painted trees shivered in windy, desolate landscapes. The portraits all chatted to another, and had to be scolded back into their proper places by a member of staff. There was a Japanese print of Yuki-Onna who shook the snow off of her umbrella.
She caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye, and as she turned to look she felt her heart stop. It was a painting of a male nude in recline. He had thrown his arms over his face so that only his black hair could be seen. He was twisting on the sofa, curling his long legs against one another, his cock soft between his thighs. Her first thought was, Sev. But that was a stupid thought. Of course the model wasn't Sev. Lily might have been able to tear her gaze away from the painting, to push it completely from her mind, if James hadn't whispered, "Snape."
He stood frozen beside her, staring just as intently at the painting. There was a dark, angry expression overtaking his face. Then he glanced down at her and seemed to shake himself free of whatever black thoughts had seized control. He plastered on a smile and said, "I'm not really an art guy. Want to get a bite to eat at that cafe we passed?"
Lily agreed. They left the art gallery and crossed the street. They drank their coffee and ate their pastries and chatted about the weather. Lovely day, isn't it? It's been unseasonably warm this winter. A shame, I would have liked to see Paris covered in snow. And then they fell silent.
Lily picked at her pastry and stole glances at James, who kept looking at the waiter. Their waiter was tall and thin and had black hair reaching down to his shoulders. "I'm tired," Lily announced. "I think I'll head back to the hotel for a lie down."
James nodded. "I'll be along shortly. I want to take a walk."
James didn't come back until after midnight. Lily pretended to still be asleep as she opened her eyes just wide enough to peek at him as he stumbled through the dark room. She watched him shuck off his Muggle shirt and trousers, but he did not place them with the rest of the dirty laundry. "Scourgify," he whispered, and then again, "Scourgify." His clothes must not have been cleaned to his satisfaction, because he grabbed some towels from the bathroom, wrapped his shirt and trousers up in them, and stuffed them down into the bottom of the trash bin, covering it all up with pieces of hotel stationary he took from the desk. Now almost completely nude, he went back into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the light. A few seconds later she heard water running.
A part of her, the Lily that had been Sev's, wanted to get up and rummage through the trash, to find out exactly what it was this arrogant toerag was trying to hide. But Sev's Lily stopped existing at the same time Sev himself did, and James's Lily thought it would be too much effort. He probably fucked that waiter, she thought. His clothes are probably covered in cum. No wonder the sex is so terrible. He's queer.
If she went digging through that bin, her suspicions would be confirmed, and she'd have to divorce him. Her pride wouldn't allow her to accept anything less. But if she stayed where she was, she could go on floating and life would be easy.